She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. They carried no more than bare subsistence wages; and they demanded all her time and energy. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. From me. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. “TROUSERS!” she whispered.
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